


Morning After

by coffeehousehaunt



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Actual Human Disaster(TM) Alex Danvers, Awkward Conversations, Concerned!Lucy, F/F, I'm not even sure what this is supposed to be, Morning After, Post-drunk sex, The Directorship - Freeform, other than
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 07:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7705207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeehousehaunt/pseuds/coffeehousehaunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starts the morning after "Previous Arrangements". A little awkward piece about awkwardness. </p>
<p>It's a bit of a bridge piece between "Previous Arrangements" and the next pieces; the idea wouldn't leave me alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning After

Alex isn’t sure what time it is when she opens her eyes. All she knows is—this is definitely not her apartment. There’s light filtering through ceiling-to-floor blinds that are _definitely_ too clean and white and _linen_ and expensive to be hers. 

And she is not sober. It’s definitely daytime, and she’s in someone else’s house, and she’s not— 

Shit. These are _sheets_. Sheets with a higher thread count than Alex thinks she’s slept on since that one undercover op with Vasquez where they got sent to Switzerland. 

She doesn’t roll over right away. Doesn’t quite dare to look, while she tries to put together her fuzzy memories and plot her escape route and her brain does the equivalent of grumbling and rolling over to go back to sleep. 

The first thing that comes together is Lucy smiling, teeth flashing and the light of the bar pooling warm on the wood of the booth, deepening the gold spark of the whiskey, all light and the haze that lines the inside of her skull. A shimmering fog. 

Right. She went drinking with Lucy last night. And then they… 

They left at _some_ point, clearly. 

She catches sight of her clothes, on the floor in (mostly) a pile, her shirt somehow on a chair that her _shin_ seems to remember vividly and—

Stumbling through the dark, swearing and laughing, hands not leaving each others’ bodies, slipping off shoulders and grabbing at arms to keep upright and fingers tangling and finally coming to a stop long enough to get clothes off. 

Well, the clothes that they had left on them. 

Oh, god. She slept with Lucy Lane. 

//

Alex isn’t sure which she should be more mortified by: the fact that she slept with Lucy Lane the _same night_ that Kara was on a date with Lucy’s ex, or that she _slept over_. The first time. Accidentally. 

Her game always was awful. 

She manages to slide out from under the covers in a way that sounds (marginally) quieter than a herd of elephants. The sheets whisper over her skin accusatorially, about nights spent faceplanted on her couch or curled up on the floor. Asks her how she keeps ending up in these places, places far too nice for her. With people far too good for her. 

And she’s still naked. Fantastic. 

She starts pulling on her clothes—sneaking out might be a dick move, but is it really any better than staying until Lucy wakes up and awkwardness ensues? 

Also, she needs to get home before she sobers up and she’s too hungover to function. 

Also, she needs to get home before Kara _calls her_. To talk about her date. With James. 

Oh, god. 

Alex runs a hand over her face again at the memory—And jesus, her hand still smells like Lucy. 

Kara was right about that, part of her notes; she does smell nice. 

Alex almost laughs out loud at that, despairingly, and then pulls her pants up and buttons them into place, careful with the zipper. 

She’s reaching for her shirt when she hears the sheets rustle. _Shit_. 

“Y’know, it really is okay that you stayed over. You were kinda trashed.” Lucy seems to find this _funny_. 

Alex isn’t sure if she should be grateful or even more embarrassed. She swallows and answers without turning around. “Sorry about that. I haven’t done that in a while. I swear I used to be able to hold my liquor better.” 

She turns around slowly, a little afraid of what she’ll find there. 

Lucy’s lying there, wrapped up in her sheets, one eye squinting open, hair a mess. Alex takes in the shape of her face in the almost-daylight, and somehow, she’s undergone another metamorphosis—from Army major to after-hours drinking buddy to ferociously competitive to—

Alex shivers a little bit at the slight stickiness on her thighs, the low ache in her abdomen. 

And now, sleepy and _soft_ , which is not something Alex would’ve even imagined before last night, and now— 

Lucy’s smiling at her. 

Oh no. She’s _pretty_. 

Lucy’s brows scrunch, and she rubs at her eyes and lifts her head to look at Alex. Alex’s heart thunks anxiously. “You _held_ about half a bottle of whiskey. I think you did just fine.” 

Oh. That. Alex remembers how to breathe. “What even was the score?” 

“I think you came… four times? I came five.” 

Alex almost chokes on her own throat. “Not—“ She squeaks, then clears her throat. “Not what I meant.” 

Lucy laughs, a smile spreading across her face. She’s teasing her, Alex realizes, and relaxes. Lucy has a nice laugh, that distant part of her notes. 

She really needs to get out of here and sober up. 

“I have no idea. But it’s the most fun I’ve had watching basketball in awhile.” Alex feels a little smile crack her face at that. “There anything you need before you go?” 

Alex laughs softly, her voice miraculously far more calm than she feels. “Nah. I’m good. If I forget something, though, I’m calling you.” 

Lucy tosses a two-fingered salute her way. “Noted.” Her head thumps back on the pillow. 

Alex finishes putting on her shirt—and then realizes her jacket’s out in the living room. She pauses at the door to Lucy’s room. 

“Hey, Lucy—Thanks. It was a fun night.” 

Lucy smiles lazily. “You always say thank-you when someone gets you off?” 

“I used to say “sir” at the end of it, too, but I killed that habit.” She finds herself joking, and will she ever learn to stop talking? 

No. The answer is no. She hopes Lucy can’t see the blush climbing up her neck. 

Lucy snorts. “Thank god.” She says dryly. “See you ‘round, Alex.” 

“Same.” Alex can’t help the smile on her face that lasts until she pulls open the door to Lucy’s apartment. 

//

The sunlight’s almost cleared the horizon when she exits Lucy’s building, and Alex is determined to be home before it stabs her in the face. 

As far as “drunk driving” goes, this is one of her tamer instances. She turns the AC on full-blast and the radio up and tries to remember the edges of her skin and where cops like to hide. 

She pulls into her spot just as the sun clears the horizon. She squints and shields her eyes until she gets inside her building. 

Oh, this hangover’s gonna be a _bitch_. 

//

Alex swallows three Advil and drinks a glass of water before laying down again to pass the fuck out. 

All in all, she just kind of pretends the day doesn’t exist. 

And the day after that. 

Really, she used to be _so_ much better at this whole drinking thing. 

//

Monday brings a return to the DEO and Lucy, surprisingly, has stayed in National City for a few more days. She’s in and out of meetings all day, and spends a _lot_ of time talking with Hank. 

All in all, Alex does a pretty good job of not-avoiding her (Really. She’s not avoiding her). 

Until suddenly, Lucy’s in the door to her office again, hat in her hand and a look on her face that makes Alex’s stomach flip anxiously. 

Alex is _great_ at the pretending things didn’t happen, thanks to Eliza. But it kinda takes cooperation from the other person. 

“Hey.” She says. Lucy flickers a tight, anxious smile at her. 

“Hey.” 

“What’s up?” 

Lucy clears her throat and steps into her room. “You didn’t respond when I texted you.” 

Shit. Lucy texted? 

This is already going to hell. 

“Sorry.” Alex stammers to avoid the question. “I was super hungover, just—“ 

“No worries.” That smile flashes brighter for a second, then shrinks again. “Really—I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

Alex is confused. There’s a weight to Lucy’s voice, her body language, that makes her think there’s something else going on here, something embedded in the question—but for the life of her, she can’t guess what. 

And she’s a body language expert. Really. Sometimes she’s surprised when she sees her own credentials. 

“Well, I mean—“ _I’m here, aren’t I?_. But no, that sounds harsh. Doesn’t it? She shrugs exaggeratedly. “Nothing Advil and some Gatorade couldn’t fix.” 

Lucy looks at her cautiously for a minute, then continues. “No, I mean are you—I mean, yes, I’m glad you’re alright, but are you—“ Her brow furrows and her look gets almost searching. “Are you okay? With what happened? We were both pretty drunk.” 

“Yeah?” Alex doesn’t quite parse it. She isn’t sure if it’s the residual hangover giving her the mental acuity of a stapler, or if she really is missing something here. 

She feels dizzy, though, because of all people, she never thought she’d be having this conversation with Lucy fucking _Lane_ , and this fucks _everything_ up. Her mind starts racing through the possible outcomes of this going bad, and her heart rate climbs. 

There’s a _reason_ for the DEO’s policy against workplace relationships. Even if they’re not technically _co-workers_. 

And then she realizes what Lucy means and she resists the urge to crawl under the desk and not come out for the next century. 

It’s like Lucy thinks the majority of the sex she’s had over the last five years has been sober. Or, like, any of it. 

“Oh. Yeah, I mean—“ She runs her hand through her hair, the words suddenly leaving her mouth very quickly. “I don’t really have—I’m not really—“ She forces herself to stop talking, because there’s nothing she can say that won’t make her sound like an absolute ass. 

Maybe she kind of is an absolute ass. 

“Most of my…” She trails off, because she can’t say it, looking at Lucy, genuinely _worried_ about her well-being after they slept together, and she’s just… “… Are usually drunk.” 

Lucy looks amused and conflicted at the same time. Then she says, a little softly, “Okay. But I still care whether or not you’re okay with it.” 

Alex’s heart rate approximately triples. “Are you asking me out?” ... And there's absolutely nothing in what Lucy said to suggest that. 

Lucy laughs. “God, no.” Alex’s stomach does something funny, and Lucy checks herself. “Sorry, I just—I don’t think either of us planned for that to happen. And—there are a lot of elements in play here—“ _That’s_ a diplomatic way of putting it. “—I can’t afford not to ask.” 

Alex is too busy calming her heart to answer. Lucy seems to take that as her cue to exit. 

She pauses before turning and disappearing, though. “And, for the record—I do care. Even if it’s just the one night. It matters how I treat my partners.” A wry little smile flashes over her face, and she looks down. “Sorry, that might be the long-term relationship talking. I used to be a lot better at this.” She looks back up at Alex. Alex’s tongue is still stuck to the roof of her mouth. 

“I should… I should go. Have a good evening, Agent Danvers.” 

And then she’s gone, leaving Alex’s brain spinning. 

What the hell just happened?


End file.
